


Night Red

by AmorousGreen



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, F/M, Season/Series 02, Vampire Bites, that fine line between antagonism and lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23539516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmorousGreen/pseuds/AmorousGreen
Summary: She’s so thrown by the situation that the words slip out before she can stop herself. “Why did you do it? Why help me? I thought you wanted me dead.”Angelus laughs darkly. “Oh, I do. But not like this. When you die, you’re going to be under me, your hot little body wrapped around me and my fangs in your throat. Make no mistake, lover. I will see you dead. But you’re going to go screaming my name.”
Relationships: Angelus (BtVS)/Buffy Summers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57
Collections: Robot Rainbow 2020





	Night Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Melacka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melacka/gifts).



> Written for Robot Rainbow for the human experiences “having a nemesis”, “mating”, “emotions - illogical/confusing”, and “poor life decisions”. It was all kinds of fun to write, so please enjoy!

Buffy doesn’t know what kind of demon it is - that will be a question for Giles, when and if she gets out of this - only that it’s nearly twice her size, has armor-tough skin, and is currently kicking her ass.

It’s really not fair. She’s supposed to be the _Vampire_ Slayer. She has her hands full enough with vampires without having to deal with every demon and dark magic user the Hellmouth can throw at her too. But when has anything in her life ever been fair?

Anyway, the point is, this unknown big ugly has her pinned against the side of a mausoleum with its brawny hands around her neck and her attempts to free herself are proving terrifyingly ineffectual as it chokes the life out of her.

And then another fighter steps out of the shadows and throws himself into the fray with a snarl. Her vision is swimming, but she’d recognize that tall dark figure anywhere. Blame it on the lack of oxygen, but for a minute it’s all so familiar that she forgets the last months and feels only relief.

The next thing she’s coherently aware of is the demon being torn off of her. She slides to the ground, gasping for breath and massaging her neck. By the time she’s recovered enough strength to get back to her feet, the demon is laid out motionless on the grass, its neck broken.

She turns to face her unexpected savior.

“Getting careless, Buff,” he chides. The words are like a slap in the face, a shock of cold water that brings her back to the present abruptly. There is no caring in his voice, no warmth in those fathomless dark eyes. This is not her love, but the monster who killed Jenny Calendar. Was she actually lucky tonight, or has she just gone from the frying pan into the fire?

She’s so thrown by the situation that the words slip out before she can stop herself. “Why did you do it? Why help me? I thought you wanted me dead.”

Angelus laughs darkly. “Oh, I do. But not like this. When you die, you’re going to be under me, your hot little body wrapped around me and my fangs in your throat. Make no mistake, lover. I will see you dead. But you’re going to go screaming my name.”

She shouldn’t be this turned on by a death threat. He’s evil and he hates her and he just stated outright that he only saved her life because he wants to kill her himself. The idea that he apparently still wants her is the last thing she should be taking from that little speech, but she can’t help fixating on it.

“I don’t get it.” Buffy does her best to sound uninvested and only idly curious, though she doesn’t know if she succeeds. “You said I was a bad lay.”

“That’s not what I said. But the infatuated schoolgirl thing had to end. I don’t like girls who cling, Buff.”

It’s not right that he can so effectively twist the knife and give her hope at the same time. _Bastard._ She throws a punch - because it’s her duty to fight him, because she knows he has the advantage over her right now and she can’t let that go uncontested - but her heart isn’t in it. She’d thought she was finally ready to kill him, but after their encounter with James and Grace’s ghosts and now everything tonight, her resolve is shattered again.

He blocks her swing with insulting ease, and his hand closes around her wrist, twisting her arm up out of the way. He closes in on her, backing her up against the wall and stepping in between her legs so she has no room to kick. She pounds her free hand against his chest, but lacks the leverage to put enough force into it to make him budge.

“Oh, do struggle, lover,” Angelus drawls. “It makes it that much more fun.”

For the second time that night she finds herself pinned against the side of the mausoleum, and the feel of his body against her, cool and solid, saps the strength from her desire to break free. He grinds his hips into her stomach; she can feel him hard and aroused through the supple leather of his pants. She’d been half convinced that he was lying again to mess with her mind, but no, he really does want her.

All the hatred and anger and lust and longing pent up inside her are as dry kindling, and his touch is the spark that sets her ablaze, setting alight a conflagration of desperate passion. She stops pushing at his chest and instead wraps her free arm around his neck, pulling his head down to hers.

She kisses him roughly, biting his lip, feels him growl against her lips and it only eggs her on. He releases her wrist to cup her ass with both hands, hoisting her up so she can wrap her legs around his waist.

Then he raises a hand to her face and brushes her hair back with something resembling tenderness. He breaks away from her lips to press maddeningly soft kisses along the line of her jaw and down her neck.

She knows it’s a trap. His hunger and passion just might be honest but his gentleness certainly isn’t. But it’s a trap she cannot resist; she arches her neck, giving him better access, even as she feels his face shift against her skin.

His fangs slice into her throat: a sharp-edged pleasure, better than sex and disconcertingly as intimate. Whatever will to fight remained to her is lost in the rush of it, in the wave of desperate heat that overwhelms her senses, driving her to new heights of arousal.

His hand slips up under the hem of her miniskirt, pressing into the slickness between her thighs, and she grinds against him, mindless and needy, with no thought but the desire for more of him. She can feel his smug satisfaction but she doesn’t even care. To her shame, she knows she’s going to let him take it all.

But she is barely lightheaded when he pulls away, leaving her bereft. She looks at him, confused and strangely disappointed even as she hates herself for her weakness. “Aren’t you going to kill me?”

“Not until you beg for it, lover.”

She glares at him. “Never gonna happen.”

He laughs, arrogant and mocking. “Promises, promises.” He pushes away from the wall, away from her. “Well, it’s been fun. I’ll see you around.”

She watches him turn and stride away, long coat swirling out behind him. She is empty and aching, leaning heavily against the wall as her legs struggle to support her. For a moment she is hurt, and then angry, and then just determined. He does not get to toy with her like this.

She chases him down and catches his arm, wrenching him around to face her. “Leaving so soon, _lover_?”

Her punch connects solidly, knocking him to the ground. He lands hard on his back, and she drops to her knees, straddling him before he can get up. She knows she’s being monumentally unwise in a hundred ways but she doesn’t care. She is not going to let him leave her unsatisfied, not this time.

Her hands reach for his fly, freeing his cock from the confining leather, and he arches into her touch as she wraps her fingers around the thick shaft. She pulls her panties to the side and sinks down onto him. She is dripping wet, but he still fills her so full, stretches her so tight that she feels like she’s going to burst.

He says nothing - and maybe it says it all that he has no words to cut her with now - but his eyes lock on hers. The warmth of love may be gone from those eyes, but they are alight with the heat of lust and need, and at least for now that’s enough.

His hands settle on her hips, slamming her down onto him again and again. (In the morning, she knows her insides will be sore and she’ll have bruises in the shape of his hands on her hips, but she heals fast. They’ll fade within a day, and she’ll miss them when they do.) There is nothing sweet or gentle about this coupling, but, God, it’s exactly what she needs. She rides him hard, desperate and greedy, trying to assuage at once all the unfulfilled hunger that has festered within her since her birthday.

He pulls her down on top of him so that her breasts are crushed against his chest and his mouth closes hungrily on hers. She returns the kiss passionately for as long as it lasts, but this time when he breaks it to shift to the side and his face starts to change, she pushes him away and straightens up again. Instinctively she knows that his fangs in her would make them both come, but she cannot allow herself to give in so easily.

Instead she smirks at him. “Not until you beg for it, lover.” The rage in his eyes only increases her pleasure.

She reaches down to rub her clit through her skirt, getting herself off, and when her muscles clench and spasm around him he follows her over the edge. His hips buck up under her wildly and he roars as his seed fills her in cool spurts.

She knows it’s a dangerous game they’re playing, that this is only the beginning and one or both of them will be doomed by the end. She knows he makes her weak and she will let him taste her again before long.

But for tonight, she will not let herself feel regret. Tonight, she is more satisfied than she has been in a long time.


End file.
